


One of those days

by quenive



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dirk and his small pony, Sadstuck, it gets really sad really fast, so i can label it as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:04:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quenive/pseuds/quenive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk: Wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of those days

You shift uncomfortably on the bed, rays of sunshine already creaking in through your window which you have left open over the night. There are a lot of weird yet well known sounds in your room, sounds that you have grown accustomed to. Seagull caws and wings flapping were almost like a comfort at this point, a white sound you don't know what you'd do without. Sweatier than a pair of balls in a leather catsuit and still not out of your sleepy daze, moving one arm out from under your chin proved to be a greater challenge than one might presume it would be. It was more asleep than you were right now. Thinking about the following pins and needles sensation you'll be brutally subjected to shot a cringe straight into your expression, so you shift once again out of sheer impulse.

This time you manage to wiggle the arm out, although there was literally no feeling in it. The floppy appendage fell sloppily on your side not unlike the long extremities of a certain puppet you owned. Speaking of Lil' Cal, you lazily reach for him with the arm that wasn't currently ready to unleash hell on your poor body, but it seems as though he wasn't really near. It would strike you as odd if a thousand little invisible insects weren't getting ready to crawl under your skin and irritate the snot out of you. A gentle breeze invaded your room through the previously mentioned open window, just in sync with the pins and needless mercilessly advancing throughout your limb.

For as long as you know about yourself you were a messy sleeper. Even now as you lay on your stomach and suffer the pain of a thousand prickling jabs, one of your legs is on the floor while the other is loosely covered with a bit of your billiard balls themed sheets. The harsh Texan heat makes it difficult to have even that on, so you attempt to shuffle it off but to no avail. Low humming vibrates through your throat as you still battle the unpleasant feeling of the blood rushing back into your limb, and only then you notice how dry your throat is and how a glass of water wouldn't fucking kill you once in a while. You mack a few times, and once again cringe at how uncomfortable everything is. Something brushes next to your foot and admittedly, you don't even bat an eye at what it could possibly be.

Texture different from seagull feathers assaulted your foot, and you'd give the menace a well deserved nudge if you were a heartless barbarian. You are not, in fact, a heartless fucking barbarian so you ignore the urge to nudge while the other party continues to nudge you. A wake-up call like this couldn't get more obvious when you felt a warm wetness on your toes. The little thing was beginning to lick and nibble on them like tomorrow isn't something relevant. A cringe would be plastered all over your face if you didn't shower last night, but that's somewhat absurd of its own. You shower every night, and every morning. Showers are your thing, and they have been for as long as you know about yourself.

And so was the little pony that was starting to nibble on the mentioned clean toes. It... didn't hurt. Was mildly irritating at its finest, yet it was enough to get you groaning out in mild frustration.

Minihoof seemed to notice you shifting up into a sitting position and she backed away with a soft whinny that you learned reflected on her excitement. Ignoring the now fainting needles jabbing at your skin, you sit on your ass and stretch your arms up. Everything hurts from your full 8+ hours of sleep, and you wipe the drying drool off your chin with the back of your hand. Surprisingly, you have not creaked your eyes open yet because you are not ready for the inevitable pain the brightness of the room will bring. You feel up your bedside drawer for your shades, a feel of triumph overwhelming you when you laid your hand on them in the first go. As soon as you put them on, your eyes fluttered open, taking in the sight of your surroundings in a glance before your head ends up tilting down.

A miniature pony, an extremely tiny miniature pony, looks up at you with eyes full of anticipation. As your other foot joins the other on the floor, you hear the soft pitter patter of little hooves against the uncovered floor tile. It makes you crack a smile even if you weren't that willing of letting it show. Maybe in the near future you'll learn to keep the "poker face" persistent, but with a pony like this it was difficult to remain completely stoic. You'll get there, you guess. But he can't see you now, and you don't have anyone who you can actually put a show in front of. As you think this, your smile threatens to fade, but for some reason.. it gets wider.

"I'm up.", you mumble out. The sound of your own voice is also something you are very much familiar with, and the sudden change in the room which came with you opening your mouth was enough to make you shudder despite the heat. Minihoof didn't seem to share your concerns, nor did she bask in the puddle of bullshit you were ready to dive into any moment now. Instead, she makes something that sounded like a pleased nicker (if your equine knowledge served you correctly), and you start thinking about all the things running through her little pony head.

"I'm up.", you repeat, and this time you don't shudder. This time you actually stand up, albeit a bit drowzy, a cloud of darkness threatening to clod your vision. So you blink a few times, just to shoo it away. Minihoof backs up, her hooves still making that oddly pleasing sound against the floor. She's looking up at you, but you look away and close your eyes, arch your back and stretch your arms. Your bones crackle but it feels so good, so you remain in that position until it begins to actually fucking ache. You've come to terms that, despite being nearly 13, you have extreme grandpa back. In the near future, you plan to fix this issue and rejuvenate your spine by fighting a huge amount of robots or some shit. Yeah, seems like a solid passtime.

As your eyes open, they scan your near surroundings which don't really change as often. There's a lot of SBAHJ memorabilia which you wouldn't give up for any form of bribe in the world, and your huge monitor is still displaying the slide-show of fairly disturbing equine-related jackassery, pun not intended. Now you're wondering, does Minihoof ever sit back and watch the screen, watch the unholy representations of her species getting shown off, one by one? Does she ever wonder what the actual fuck is wrong with that large two-legged horse that lives with her and gives her life necessities? Does she, like you, wonder what goes on in the mind of the other?

Fuck, you're literally shaking your head now. This isn't something you should think about this early in the morning and you are a disgrace to your uniform, a tick in the fursuit of life and an over-analyzing extraordinaire.

You need to brush your teeth, the mint will refresh your collapsing brain.

As you drag yourself on your feet, Minihoof follows you with a great dosage of enthusiasm, or so it seems. She probably wants food, but she'll survive a few more minutes of, quote unquote, "starvation" since you kinda prioritized washing your teeth at the moment. Not that you don't take good care of her, you fucking love this horse. No way you'd actually let it starve to death, you'd rather croak yourself.

As anticipated, she follows you into the bathroom. It's kind of weird when she just stands there, looking at you taking a piss and not blinking. Like she's grooming some sort of interest in watching you preform your morning routine, as she didn't already take a piss in every inch of your room imaginable. That's why you've given up on carpets, horse pee is a bitch to get out of that orange shag (yes, he left you nothing but shag carpets). Even as you brush your teeth, she continues to stare at you, not moving a muscle. You try not to look back and encourage this weird behavior, but you do tend to slip and send her the slightest of foamy grins. And as if she can read these grins, she too shifts almost like she is returning such a nice and positive gesture.

You spent a lot of time teaching her tricks in the calmest and kindest way possible. Leg forward and head down, Minihoof can bow on command and you are quite proud of that, what with you having little to no experience with horse dressage. Stomping her front hooves when you want her to is another thing she's good at, but you kind of guess she really enjoys the illusion of wrecking shit and causing damage. Silly, delusional Minihoof. You cannot do jack shit.

You spit and rinse, gargle some water and spit again. The pony staring at you took this as a sign of you finishing up your bathroom duties and exits the room alone. This kind of became your daily routine, as much as you dislike to admit it. You are, in fact, a creature of strict habit and you're quite fond of sticking to it. Glancing at the little stool next to your foot, you give it a little push with the right one because you feel triumphant over the small piece of furniture. You've reached puberty, you can see the mirror just fine without its assistance. With that, you leave right after your tiny comrade.

She's waiting for you in the kitchen, eyes locked in the direction of a box high on the counter. You approach her, and take the square see-through plastic container in your hands. Her hooves click and clank the kitchen tiles as she backs away, and you smile at how unusual her gestures and behavior are. With no hesitation what so ever, you drop down on the cold floor, sitting cross-legged and setting the box in your lap. Minihoof snorts and approaches you as you flick the blue cap off. It's full of dried seaweed, something you tend to feed her for breakfast. It's rich with nutrients and potassium, you did your fair amount of research before you started collecting this piece of flora, modifying it, and feeding it to your beloved friend.

It smells different from the food you eat, but you're used to it. You're used to many things, and getting used to shit is something you're still getting used to. You scoop up some of it in your hand, and the already fragile "sheets" crack in your hand. They're sufficiently dried, and you keep measuring the amount by dropping it, then scooping again until you get to the amount you've learned to be enough for the time being.

You stretch your arm out to her, palm open under her nose. The pony wastes no time before she digs in, literally eating the ocean delicacy out of your hand. There are no birds in the room, although you can hear faint cawing coming from your bedroom if you listen hard enough. Otherwise, it's a comforting silence only broken by the sound of Minihoof eating. You look at her, smile as she accidentally nibbles on your hand but licks it soon after, as if she honestly believes she hurt you in a way. The leaves crunch in between her teeth, and you can hear the sound of the ocean outside, endlessly slamming into the metal foundation of the foot of your apartment building.

The atmosphere is calm and comfortable, warm and soothing in a way. It coils around your heart, squeezes like a merciless serpent until you're closing your eyes shut and sighing. It seems as though you're never able to get enough air in you at times like these, and it stings and praises at the same time. It's the most bittersweet feeling you can get. You miss something and there's a crater in your chest, a hole. Nothing can fill it, but the placebo is good enough for now.

Your eyes flutter open under your dark shades. She's almost done with her food. Disregarding the box with your free hand, you lift the mentioned limb up to rub your eyes, simultaneously nudging the shades up. You push them up all the way, setting them on your still untamed bedhead and letting your slightly curled blond locks tangle the triangular eyewear.

She is much brighter now when you look at her without a darker filter, straight with your piercing orange hues. There is no more seaweed, but she still licks your palm. You gently edge it away and curl your fingers in it, making a gentle fist. Still, you can't bring yourself to pull back. Your knuckles are inviting, so it seems, because Minihoof makes a gentle nudge at them, begging for attention and to be petted. So you oblige, gently stroking her mane with your finger joints. She nickers, and you just can't stop smiling. As the pony eases into your gentle touch, you feel a shudder running through your body. You groom her a lot, her mane is soft and the striking pink bow on her head is neat, as it always is.

She has been resting her chin on your hand for a while now, with eyes closed shut. You suspect she might have fallen asleep, so you let her sleep. The hand she's resting on doesn't move the slightest, you refuse to let it make the slightest of twitches.

You're not sure when you noticed liquid running down your cheeks, and you don't care. You don't want to keep noticing it, because you don't want to get used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Some writing for venting purposes. I like Dirk, I like horses. I like it combined.


End file.
